


Treasures

by Nopholom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Non Consensual, Pirates, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:59:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom/pseuds/Nopholom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Michael is a the captain of a famous ship, known for travelling to foreign lands and bringing back exotic beauties. When his ship is attacked in southern waters and boarded by pirates, it's the Devil, a feared pirate lord, who will be claiming foreign treasures this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treasures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrossroadProphet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrossroadProphet/gifts).



> Uhm... it's dub and noncon because... it sort of is rape but isn't... I am ashamed.
> 
> It's for crossroadprophet's prompt here: http://srs2012.dreamwidth.org/4895.html#comments

This was ridiculous, a _captive_ in his own ship! If he could get out of these damned binds he’d cut the bastards down; this was too much, how could _he_ , Michael Adler, Captain of the Dominion of Virtue, have been captured and bound within his own ship?

 He jerked his wrists slightly, but the metal cuffs, though worn, were tough and rough enough to bite into the flesh, he could hardly see either, the oil lamp was shattered on the floor of the cramped little store, he’d found that out through the underside of his foot, now bloody and sore. He could hear footsteps above him, looking up but knowing he wouldn’t be able to see anything, he couldn’t even see the boxes and crates he knew were in this room. It was the room at the back of his quarters, stacked high with chests and containers full of glittering spoils, his treasure room, the one _he_ was supposed to be the last line of defence for. He let out a sigh, listening again for sounds of ruckus, but none came, it was too quiet out there, just like it had been too quiet when a group of scruffy, vulgar looking men rammed into his chambers and struck him down, tearing away his trinkets and then his clothes, leaving him to regain consciousness in a cramped treasure room in nought but his undergarments, cuffed to the large lock of a hefty chest.

He’d heard about attacks like this, they crept in like ghosts, wiped out the whole ship without a sound; usually a young child was spared, left to regale townsfolk with tales of demons and spirits that ate the living. He shuddered at the thought, was he going to be a meal for some inhuman creatures? He tried to remember the men who had attacked him, but all he saw in his mind’s eye was coal black eyes, shimmering and malicious as they grinned and sneered at him. He hoped it was the head injury—the source of the wet heat creeping down his brow—that was causing him to imagine ungodly things crawling over his ship, because there was no way any of that was real. He was shaken by the images, drawing his feet up onto the crate he was sat on, wincing as he pushed a shard deeper into his heel, curling into himself as best he could, letting himself cower as his foreseeable future grew bleaker and bleaker.

The silence was stifling, disrupted only by the distant sound of boots on wood, though a single set of hollow clicks grew louder and nearer, Michael lifting his head, eyes wide and barely adjusted to the darkness, making it more of a shock to his system when the door to the treasury was yanked open and the light of new morning pooled in from the expansive wall of windows at the end of his quarters. He hissed and scrunched his eyes closed, ducking his head and curling further into himself, even his toes curled slightly, drawing more pain from the filled gash in his heel. He expected some jeering, snide remarks and insults from the intruder blocking out a mere sliver of light, but none came, only silence; he slowly opened his eyes, squinting to try and discern the figure silhouetted by burning lights, but it was difficult. He could just about define a man’s build stood there, broad and intimidating, tall too, easier to see as the light seemed to dim in his eyes adjustment of it,

“Who… who are you?” he asked, his voice shaky and weak when he had intended it strong and a threat. He saw the man’s head tilt, a slow cant that left _Michael_ feeling disoriented, he swallowed thickly, ready to speak again when the man stepped inside; he flinched at the sound of glass breaking underfoot, the man looking down quickly, pushing glass and the lantern aside before he proceeded closer.

The closer he got, the more focus Michael got on the man, his features became distinguishable from the blur, skin pale but will patches of something sickly, eyes sunken slightly, but something about him seemed serene, the odd way his eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, the wicked curve of his lips as he lay a hand on Michael. He barely even noticed the touch, too stricken and transfixed on the man’s face to even breathe, let alone react to the oddly gentle trail of fingertips down the collar of his long underwear. The man tugged at the collar and smirked, seemingly amused by Michael’s choice of underclothing,

“Who—“ Michael began, but those fingers pressed to his mouth, he could _feel_ the dirt, the fingernails were dark all over, the rough edge pressing a crescent into his lips,

“Shhh,” it was the first noise he’d made, fingers tracing along Michael’s lower lip, pulling it down enough to see the Captain’s teeth. Michael was trembling, he hadn’t realised at first, but the shaky way this man’s fingers moved on his skin was his own doing, his fear taking over, uncertain of his future as he had never been treated so confusingly by another man. “You’re not to make a sound, understand?” he asked, voice almost lyrical sounding, scarily reassuring, Michael wanted to protest though, to shout and kick and bite, but he couldn’t move, not when the icy breath sent shivers through his skin. He swallowed, taking an uneasy breath as this weirdly clean pirate invaded his personal space, got too close, pressing his mouth to Michael’s cheekbone, but not to bite, just a press of cold lips whilst the man inhaled deeply through his nose, which met his skin where blood had grown tacky. The cold exhale sent a full body shudder through Michael, he could feel his flesh rising in goose bumps as the cold sank down to his very bones. He felt the man’s lips curve into a smile against his cheek, tried to shy away from the contact but the man followed, opening his mouth and dragging his tongue up along Michael’s skin, wetting the drying blood and lapping it away sluggishly. Michael grimaced, uncomfortable and terrified now; he was going to die, this terrifying man, human or no, was going to devour him and wouldn’t even give him the privilege of death first. Again that tongue pulled against his skin, trailing to his hairline, slow enough for Michael to realise what he felt was two sources of cold dampness on his skin, perplexing and unnerving.

He still didn’t know who his assailant was, whether it was one of the many preternatural crew rumoured to accompany this kind of pillage or…

“No…” he whimpered, cracking his eyes open and shifting his gaze nervously to the man, he could see him, jaw rough with brittle hair, he was no longer tasting Michael’s blood, instead watching him with a curious cant of his head, eyes flickering with something placid yet cruel. “You’re _him_ … aren’t you?” he asked, he shouldn’t be speaking, his mind was screaming at him to stop, he didn’t need to know, just let the man kill him, anonymous and vague, he didn’t need to know who he was. “ _Devil_ ,” he whispered, and the word hung thick in the air, like a curse in front of women and elderly, even something as simple as a word knocked what little heat there was from the room.

A wry smile curved the man’s lips, “To some,” he huffed softly, lifting his hand and cupping Michael’s cheek, tilting his head up so his breath ghosted across Michael’s lips, “but you, Michael?” his eyes widened at that, this man knew his name, knew who he was, but he tried to assure himself. Of _course_ he knew who Michael was, nobody was quite so famous for their trade as he was, nobody quite so revered for their taste in exotic treasures, of course the Devil knew who he was. “You can call me _brother_ ,” Michael’s brows drew together in confusion, he didn’t understand why he would ever call this man _brother_ , so he bit his tongue, wouldn’t say a damned word to this fetid creature. He huffed defiantly, trying to turn his head away but fingers dug into his jaw, holding him firm; he moved his body instead, trying to kick out only to hurt himself more, stomping the shard deeper and bringing tears to his eyes. The Devil seemed appreciative of the shimmer in Michael’s eyes, his smile softening as he brushed a dirty thumb along the orbit of Michael’s eye, pulling the lower lid down slightly, the tear breaking free and collecting on the grubby digit. He pulled his thumb away and pressed it to his mouth, tasting Michael’s tears before looking to him again, moving so both his hands cupped Michael’s face, drawing the stunned man into a kiss, feigning gentleness before snapping into aggression, hand shifting to tug Michael’s hair hard enough to yank his head back, the Devil standing over him and forcing his tongue into the captain’s mouth. Michael was horrified, letting out muffled protest into the Devil’s mouth as he yanked at his bonds, cutting them into his wrists, body twitching as he struggled to work out how to react to the slick of tongue against his own. His eyes widened further, if possible, when he felt cold wetness on the top and bottom of his tongue, the cold invasive muscle in his mouth was split at the tip, curled around his tongue, trying to coax it into a motion that wasn’t a retreat.

Tears shed down his cheeks, the pain from the angle his neck was and the consistent tug at his hair had pushed him over the edge, let alone the bite of metal into his wrists and the shard buried deep in his foot. He tried to cry out but all that came out was a muffled sobbing, a noise so pathetic and forlorn that the Devil took a deep pleasure in it, his free hand moving to Michael’s chest and plucking away the wooden buttons of his long underwear, forcing it open to just below the navel, his dirty fingers soon curling in the short hairs trailing down Michael’s stomach. Michael tried to shift away but there was nowhere he could go, his back was pressed against the lid of the hefty trunk and he was being curved over it, the Devil’s hand shifting to his hip to heft him off of his backside. It was uncomfortable, an unnecessary pull at his bonds but not enough to dig enough into his skin to cut any deeper, the Devil pressing a knee to the surface Michael was sat on, leaning over him as he lay him over the curved lid of the chest. Though his wrists weren’t in too much pain, his arms were uncomfortably straight and he worried they would snap in the brittle chill of the treasury, under the body of this vulgar man. The Devil pulled away, he was knelt over Michael’s thighs, a hand on Michael’s chest, pushing lightly and watching his reaction, seeing the man wince as his arms were pushed closer to the limit of their extend; he rolled his eyes then, forked tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he knelt back and fished a ring of keys from his belt, reaching beneath Michael to uncuff him.

Michael wanted to lash out, to shove him away or punch him, to defend himself, but his arms wouldn’t cooperate, reaching out with numb fingers that curled into the lapels of the Devil’s thick, shoddy coat, not there for long as the man laughed at him, pushed his hands away and shrugged the coat off, shortly followed by his waistcoat and his belt, which dropped to the floor with a startling clatter, guns and blade hitting the floor with it. “Better?” the Devil asked, holding his arms out, allowing Michael to see him easier,

“Wh-what?” Michael asked, staring at the man like he was insane, because to his knowledge he quite possible was, but the Devil frowned at him, reaching to his boot and pulling something from it, something that glinted in the sunlight that filtered into the room, doing nothing against the chill. The Devil pressed it to Michael’s neck, a small sharp blade cold against his skin,

“say ‘ _yes brother’_ ,” he hissed, Michael huffing through his nose and clamping his mouth shut, but the Devil pressed harder, a hint of blood pooling the tiny warning cut, and the nervous swallow after made Michael question his choices here.

“y-yes brother…” he whispered, closing his eyes, willing himself away from this dingy room, imploring any deity who would listen to save him from this fate, or let him be ate instead, because he knew what was to come, he was sure of it.

“Good boy,” the Devil hummed softly, brushing the backs of his fingers against Michael’s cheek, the blade in clear view for him now, his assailant shifted off of him, tucking the blade into the back of his loose breeches as he inspected his new toy. “Take that ridiculous thing off,” he commanded, Michael looking down at himself, then back at this man, terror written clear on his damp features, there was no doubt in his mind, if the Devil wanted him in only his skin, he’d be taking out his bounty in a way Michael had thought was reserved for the fairer sex.

“Please—“ he pleaded, he felt like his limbs had locked up again in his terror, but the Devil held no regard for that, either ignoring or misinterpreting his request by moving closer and pushing the shoulders of the underwear off, easing it down Michael’s stiff, uncooperative body.

“I understand,” he uttered, “Believe me, I do,” he touched Michael’s cheek again, brushing away the tears from his skin, moving to pull the thin linen down further, bunched at Michael’s hips. He let out a whimper, a pathetic, horrid little whimper, trying to clamp his legs closed, to hold the material still with his thighs, but instead his knees caught the man above him, his legs curling around him of their own accord, his body was somehow betraying him. “Shhhh,” the Devil murmured, hands pushing Michael’s legs loose and down, Michael easing out a sigh in spite of himself, watching dumbly as his last shred of decency was eased down his legs. The Devil stopped as Michael winced, the tight fabric at his ankle pressuring his heel, notifying the man of his injury, “oh brother… you’re hurt…” he hummed, tracing a finger around the base of the glass, soon grasping it and pulling it free. Michael arched from the chest with a cry of pain, drawing his foot to himself, the linen yanking free as the Devil kept a hold of it; he sobbed brokenly, the pain excruciating, but contrary to what Michael feared, the Devil drew him close and into his arms, shushing him and running his hands through slightly tacky hair, letting him sob through the pain.

Michael could see over the Devil’s shoulder, staring out at his empty quarters, at the sunlight that should have brought warmth and comfort, but paled under the chill that followed the Devil around. He glanced down, saw the handle of the blade that had pressed to his throat, and with shaky arms, he wrapped them around the Devil, forcing out further sobs and sniffles as he reached for the ivory handle. His fingers curled around it and the Devil seemed unaware, even as it slipped from the waistband of his breeches, he turned it in his hand, pointing the blade at the Devil’s back, guessing where the man’s heart was and scrunching his eyes closed. He took a deep breath, ready to plunge the blade in when something stopped him; the Devil was carding his fingers through Michael’s hair, separating those which were stuck with blood, holding him close, protective even, it was confusing and jarring, and the blade clattered to the ground, dropped by Michael’s traitorous hands as he leant back and looked at this man, this murderer, plunderer. He didn’t understand what his body was doing, why he held the Devil’s arm loosely and leant back further, easing himself against the rounded lid of the chest and looking up at him like some kind of virgin, waiting on her wedding night.

The Devil bound his foot, a shoddy, rudimentary wrap to absorb any further blood, before returning his attention to the rest of Michael’s body, Michael’s _completely naked body_. He should have been reeling about being completely exposed to this man, but something calmed him, soothed him, made him _long_ for the Devil to look at him the way he was looking at him.

“Beautiful…” the Devil murmured, reaching and trailing his fingers down one pectoral, soon following the curves of muscles on Michael’s stomach, then tracing the V of his hips down to his short, soft cock, sleepy and hooded, disinterested at present.

“Brother…” Michael let out as that hand, dirty and a little bloody, wrapped around him, coaxed some blood into his nethers, the Devil smiled as Michael’s body took an interest, releasing him half-mast and untucking his blouse and pulling the string of his breeches loose, pushing them down so they bunched below his knees, hooked on his boots. He wore nothing beneath and his prick was already heavy with blood, upright with the skin drawn naturally back. Michael sucked in a scared breath, he _knew_ what was happening, but there was nothing to ease the way of something quite like that, no longer was he worried about being buggered in the first place, but instead he was worried about it being a _comfortable_ experience. He was shaking his head, eyes wide and prick soft once more, he was _terrified_ , “brother I can’t possibly…” he uttered, and the Devil huffed another laugh, even with his breeches down he had no trouble pressing a knee to the wood beneath Michael’s backside and pushing himself up, Michael’s eyes locked onto the bobbing prick before him, awed by it even as the Devil shifted back down to his feet, a glass bottle in hand, carved with ornate gold trimming the stopper and neck. Michael wanted to protest, that was a rare, precious oil, worth a _fortune_ , _commissioned_ even, there was no way he should let this happen, he needed to put a stop to it, but he was transfixed on the oil dripping over the Devil’s fingers, thick oil dropping down and splashing lightly on Michael’s cock and thighs. The oil was placed to the side and after a stripe of it was drawn up the underside of Michael’s cock, the Devil’s hand eased down past his balls and pushed into his clenched pucker. It was painful and shocking, the oil was ineffective in such a rush, the ache and burn causing Michael to tense and try to curl his body up.

“Ah-ah,” the Devil uttered, “relax brother, it’ll be better for both of us,” he advised, Michael taking a few deep breaths before sprawling himself over the rounded lid and trying to relax his whole body, especially the tightness coiled around one of the Devil’s fingers. At the first sign of a give, the Devil was pushing his finger in deeper, fucking it into him before adding another and causing Michael to cry out, pained and dismayed. Once again all gentleness was a front for something more sinister, the Devil stretching Michael’s virgin asshole quickly and not nearly well enough before his three fingers pulled out, blood and dirt mingling in the residual oil, washed clear when he poured more on to slick down his cock. Michael’s body was completely disinterested in this experience, his dick soft and his body sore and trying hard not to seize up, especially when the head of the Devil’s cock pressed to his barely stretched hole.

He bottomed out immediately, covering Michael’s mouth to muffle the cry of near agony, his other hand biting into Michael’s hip as he let the man adjust briefly before starting to fuck him. Michael’s sobs quietened and the Devil moved both hands to Michael’s hips, dragging his only slightly smaller body hard into his brutal thrusts, now eased by oil and blood from Michael’s torn asshole.

He praised Michael like he was playing his part brilliantly, fucking him harshly and viciously, drawing out the most pathetic, unarousing noises from him and still getting off on it, telling Michael how much he loved how needily Michael squeezed him. Michael continued to cry, reduced to the mental state of a scared child as his body was abused and battered, soon feeling the Devil’s hips press against the backs of his thighs, his insides flooding uncomfortably as the Devil groaned in his release. Those calm, pitiless eyes turned down on him again, the Devil slipping free of his bloody, come slick hole, he moved his hand from the bruised dips on Michael’s hips and wrapped his damp hand around Michael’s cock, pumping it hurriedly, drawing Michael’s body to an implausible release, the bliss cancelling out his bodily pain for a half second before he fell limp, entire body begging him to curl up and die.

“Brother,” the Devil whispered a few moments later, Michael opened his eyes to see him dressed above him, brushing hair from his face, “get up,” he urged, helping Michael to his feet and holding him upright on shaky legs. He could feel blood and thick come dripping down his thighs and was trying to keep his left foot off of the floor, the Devil helped him limp from the treasury and dumped him on the bed before dressing him. He was trembling violently, backside in searing pain as he sat, even worse when he was dressed and stood, arm curled around the Devil for support, the Devil’s arm wrapped around him, making him feel safe somehow in spite of what he’d just been through.

He was led through his ship, the place in utter disarray, black eyed crewmen swinging gaily from ship to ship, transporting goods across planks, Michael’s crew was dead and strewn across the deck.

“Captain Lucifer, sir!” one of the men halted and gave Michael a quizzical glance, “Are we taking the treasures sir?” he asked,

“I don’t care,” the Devil, _Lucifer_ , spat, “I’ve got _my_ treasure,” he looked down at Michael as he spoke, tucking a finger under his chin and drawing him into a light kiss, “haven’t I brother?”

Michael nodded.


End file.
